Taking His Place
by nonoji
Summary: Happy halloween! ZoSan vampire story.


_**I do not own anything. Not even my laptop.**_

**-Taking His Place-**

_To suck out his identity._

_To suck out his place in the world. _

_To suck out his very existence, and make it all my own._

"…So then I get up and look to the end of my bunk, and see this dark shadow, fiddling with my toes."

"Like Moria's? You still having nightmares from that island?"

"Will you shut the fuck up? Why am I telling you this anyway?"

"You'd rather tell Chopper why you haven't slept for the past few weeks? Just tell me the problem, and I'll tell you how fucking paranoid you're getting. Go on."

"Fuck you, stupid moss head.

…I might as well tell you anyway. If I say it aloud, it might sound ridiculous enough for me not to give a shit any longer.

So.

It's dark and I see this shadow touching my toes. I feel it pinch my toes like a solid living thing, and I stare at it, waiting for my eyes to adjust to the darkness and to the blurry vision you get when you've had your knuckles pressed hard against your eyelids. It takes a while for me to recognise my face in the shadow. Yeah, my face. Exactly how I see myself in the mirror. Only it's moving independently. And talking. He tells me that I've lived enough, I've had my fun and that it's his turn now, that it's time for us to swap.

…You think this is hilarious, right? Whatever. He crawls towards me, hands on my stomach as heavy as like you are now. …Actually, this might take long to tell, so will you get off of me? Right. Anyway, he crawls towards me, his wrists by my shoulders, mouth on my neck, and I feel him smile. Smile into the curve of my neck, the stubble rubbing exactly how I would imagine it would feel like if I did that to you. He opens his mouth, and I feel the exhale of air. This is when I decide that I can't let whatever is happening, so I push him off, and sit upright, watching him as he smiles this stupid grin like he's five steps ahead of me.

I'm not afraid, never afraid, but I wanted to know exactly what I was dealing with, so I stand and head for the bathroom, which you know is the only room on the entire ship with a lock, so that I can give myself time to collect my thoughts and consider my options. I hear him laugh, but I walk on, not looking back.

I quickly bolt the door and lean my weight against it, pressing my ear on the wood to listen for the sound of the approaching footsteps. Only, what I hear is not the footsteps of one person, but of an entire army or something. Well, at least more than twenty people. Shit, I sound like Usopp don't I? But yeah, that's what it sounded like. An army.

… These people, whatever or whoever they were, sounded exactly what I would imagine those marine training camps you hear about would be like. I hear them approach, even pace, precise, synchronized foot, one after another, and I prepare myself for an attack, waiting for the door to burst open.

And I wait, but there's only silence.

I cautiously walk back to the door, and bend slightly down to peek through the keyhole.

The door suddenly shakes as it is pounded by god knows how many fists, every single surface of it making impact with this huge noise that is so loud, it feels like I am physically being hit, instead of the door. The hinges rattle and the wood starts to break. I'm covering my ears, closing my eyes to block out the painful noise, my ass on the tiled floor and my muscles tense for the moment the door breaks down.

And it happens. The door bursts open, the shadows sweep in, and I…

And I wake up.

And I experience this, every fucking night for yeah, like you said, the past few weeks."

A few nights after, Sanji recovered dramatically from his sleep-deprived state. His cooking standards became higher than ever, significantly improving on a daily basis at a pace which even the swordsman had to admit was impressive. The nights he shared with Zoro became more fiery, the usual 'Are-you-fucking-done-yet-you-stupid-fucking-piece-of-moss' while smoking and staring at the ceiling vacantly, was now replaced by a man who was genuinely striving to please the swordsman, looking at him in tenderness, closing his eyes in concentration as he thrust his lover deep inside of him.

There were a few things however, which Zoro just could not ignore.

How the left-handed cook had started using his right hand to carve the fish for dinner.

How there had been a mark on his neck, though it quickly disappeared, which strangely resembled two syringe shots, the skin surrounding the puncture marks looking red and swollen with blood.

How Sanji had started to hide his right eye instead of his left.

How the movement in Sanji's reflection, was sometimes a moment too slow.

How when he asked the cook of those dreams, the blond seemed to have completely erased those memories.

_Did that sound too cliche? OOC? I tried to avoid the stereotypical interpretation of vampires but I'm feeling my self esteem dropping with the sneaky crack that I can't seem to get rid of. It's bad when you can't take your own writing seriously._


End file.
